you're the victim of my eyelids.
there's a close-bound reinforcement
compelled by everyone you've ever known.
the victim of the fire escape:
a cat that ran through the doors.
it fell, and as it did,
the landing was seen as something outstanding.
from the bottom we watched and i admired.
just past the ladder i climbed
so high i told you i could never get back down.
i was freezing to death and there was smoke in my chest
hell if you knew what do with me.
you're de-frozen, detached.
disembodied by the lights.
killing and fighting demons at your back.
you're rusty like vinyl,
you're heavy and deep like plunging waters.
you're clean,
you're a stranger's disease.
and there's nothing like running through the cracks,
of someone else who once knew you;
the person that you thought was the one.
there's nothing more familiar
than pulling apart the lid
that kept the ribcage together.
there's nothing,
let me tell you,
like dying away in august midnights.